


Last Respects

by milkysterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Mate Stiles Stilinski, Attempted Murder, BAMF Stiles, Character Death, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mentions of Past Derek/Kate, Mountain Ash Poisoning, Revenge, kind of, mention of past non-con, mentions of future torture, sterekscenestealer3, sterekweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek
Summary: Stiles pays Gerard a visit.





	Last Respects

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sterek Week
> 
> Day two - Scene Stealer

Frost covered country road cracks and crumbles under the heavy pressure of car tires. It’s dark outside with only the ever-present moonlight leading the way through thick trees and tall grass. The road is old and disused; it doesn’t look like anyone has been down this way in a while. That’s an accurate assumption, Stiles expects. 

They’re in Boyd’s car. Stiles’ jeep is in the shop and he wouldn’t risk asking Derek if he could borrow the Camaro. Erica is riding shotgun, her long fingers laced with her boyfriend’s as they drive deeper and deeper into the woods. She’s listening to music through her leopard print earbuds and tapping away on her phone with her spare hand, pointedly ignoring the tension in the car. Stiles is glad of her disregard. Boyd, on the other hand…

“I don’t like this,” The beta tells him as the car breaks out through the treeline and rolls onto a small, one-way lane. There’s an old brick bridge ahead of them and while it looks beautiful amongst nature, it does  _ not _ look safe. 

Well, it’s not like crossing that bridge will be the most dangerous thing he does tonight. 

Stiles decides to continue playing it dumb like he’s done all night so far, “What’s not to like about visiting a friend?”

Boyd’s dark eyes meet with Stiles’ in the rearview mirror and he stares Stiles down. It’s a difficult thing to manage these days, now that Stiles is the resident Alpha-Mate of Northern California. There aren’t many who can make Stiles look away but Boyd succeeds. It doesn’t matter - they’re not  _ in _ Northern California right now so it doesn’t count. That’s what Stiles is telling himself, anyway. 

Purring along, the car passes over the bridge without incident and turns onto another small lane. It’s now that the house, Stiles’ destination, finally comes into view. Stiles sets his jaw; he isn’t afraid. 

“A friend,” Boyd repeats and pulls his car to a slow stop, “I don’t often see you take your bat to visit  _ friends _ .”

Stiles doesn’t insult Boyd by coming up with a lie. Instead, he stays quiet and reaches over to pop the door open. With his free hand, he wraps his capable fingers around his bat and climbs out from the back of the car.  Once he’s out, he comes round to the front and leans into Boyd’s window, who opens it dutifully when Stiles makes the wind-down gesture, “I shouldn’t be long.”

“We’ll wait,” Boyd sighs and leans back in his seat. 

Erica, who isn’t listening but still has eyes to see that Stiles is leaving, raises her hand in a half wave, saying goodbye as Stiles heads off into the night. 

It looks like it’s going to rain.

 

The house is fancier than Stiles had expected. The outside is built with old stone that’s been cracked in places from weather damage over the years but still manages to pull the look off as if the ruin was done on purpose. The inside is neat and clean with high walls and beautiful hanging chandeliers. There are works of art lining the walls and vases of flowers that look fresh enough to tell Stiles that his  _ friend _ is being well looked after. 

He doesn’t know why he’d tried to lie to Boyd. The guy is a fucking werewolf, for god’s sake. He could have heard the lie in Stiles’ heart from a mile away. At least Stiles knows his pack is out there waiting for him on the off chance that something goes wrong. 

That won’t happen, though. It’s far too late for that. 

Swinging his bat onto his shoulder, Stiles stalks through the house. 

 

The old man is in his chair, facing a deep, tall fireplace that looks to be in its original condition. His back is to Stiles and he’s mumbling to himself, something quiet and hidden under the crackling flames from the fire. Whatever it is, it distracts him enough to not notice Stiles entering the grand living room with its thick red rugs and hardwood flooring, perfectly undetected. 

He’s pitiful, Stiles thinks, and it’s bizarre to him that once, years ago, he had been at the mercy of this pathetic excuse of a man. This shivering, shaking rodent. Stiles despises him with every fibre of his being and oh, how he can’t wait for what’s to come tonight. 

“Gerard.” 

Gerard drops whatever he was clinging to in his quaking hands, the small, white bottle landing on the carpet below and turns his wheelchair towards the door. When his eyes meet Stiles, wide and panicked, Stiles grins. 

Neither of them speaks at first - Gerard out of shock from seeing a face he probably thought he’d never see again, Stiles for the drama of it. He enjoys watching people squirm, especially people like Gerard. For once, Stiles is the one in the position of power, he’s the one with all the cards and he should be the one to break the silence. 

After he’s given the old man a few seconds to stew in his own shit, Stiles saunters into the room, his bat still sitting leisurely on his shoulder; a warning. 

“Long time no see,” There’s an edge of excitement in Stiles’ voice, something close to hysteria, but he keeps the bulk of it back, controlling himself just enough. He doesn’t want to spoil this moment, “I would have phoned ahead to tell you I was coming but, well, that would have ruined the surprise.  No, no, don’t get up on account of me. I’m more than happy to make myself at home,” Stiles insists, despite the fact that Gerard has made no motion to move since he first set eyes on him. It’s understandable - the guy has to know what’s coming, what’s finally caught up with him.

There’s a soft, plush dining chair over by Gerard’s desk and Stiles takes a seat in it, making himself comfortable. He crosses one leg over the over and places his bat down beside the desk, confident in his safety without it. 

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Stiles curses and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s a lot - all of this - and part of Stiles still can’t believe this day has finally come. It’s been years in the making; years of searching, years of planning and years of hatred upon hatred building and growing and breeding into the venom that he feels now, now that he’s face to face with the monster who’s ruined so many lives. “Sure, it hasn’t been  _ all _ I’ve thought about, but it’s kind of been the end goal. You know what I mean? Like, I’ve gone through college, got my education, really worked on the pack with Derek and we’ve started a family. We have a really nice house, too, and lots of friends who would do anything for us. I’ve pretty much-achieved everything I’ve ever wanted to…”

Stiles trails off and finally raises his head to look at Gerard. He’s silent for a moment as he stares into the eyes of the old man, glueing him in place with nothing but a look, “I guess all that’s left is killing you.”

If Stiles had thought this would startle Gerard enough to make him cry out, to yell for help that would never come - Stiles made sure of that weeks ago when he paid the nurse off - he was mistaken. 

Instead, Gerard pales, goes paler than any pale Stiles has ever seen before. Then there’s the shaking. It starts in his hands and slowly works its way up the man’s wrists, forearms, all the way up until it reaches his core. It’s almost like he’s convulsing, like he’s about to throw up. Actually, he kind of looks like Stiles and Derek’s cat when she’s about to bring up a furball. Gross. 

Still cringing from the memory, Stiles uncrosses his legs and leans forward in the chair, his hands holding on to each of the armrests as he tries to get a better look - tries to work out if Gerard is  _ really _ going to throw up from the realisation of his own mortality, just how little time he has left and just how _painful_ his last moments are going to be. 

Then, finally, it happens. Thick black gunk shoots out of Gerard's mouth and splatters on the rug inches away from Stiles’ feet. He grimaces down at the discharge and tries not to barf himself. That would be embarrassing, especially since he’s just been mentally ridiculing Gerard for the same thing.  Of course, Stiles hasn’t forgotten what that black goo is - how could he forget Gerard spewing that shit like a fucking water fountain all those years ago? - and he slowly raises his head once more, grinning from ear to ear. 

Gerard collapses from his wheelchair and tumbles to the floor. His decrepit, tormented body jerks for a moment as pain from falling at his age rockets through him. Crying out only causes more of the black gunk to ooze from his colourless mouth and the man begins to crawl.  Amused by the whole thing, Stiles decides to follow, walking at a slow and mocking pace beside the man who is dragging his corpse with all the strength he can muster, all the strength he has left. Stiles watches and smirks and steps in time with every pull of Gerard’s body until he’s almost there, almost to what he so desperately needs. 

Stiles’ foot comes down on Gerard’s hand just as it’s about to wrap around his pill bottle. 

“No,” The old man growls, black sludge sputtering from his lips and flicking out onto the floor leaving a real mess for the cleaners. 

Stiles chuckles and smiles down at the dying man, “Did you really think I was going to let you take them?”

He doesn’t get a response. That’s probably because Gerard is busy struggling for breath against the waves of ooze that are pouring from his constricting throat. Stiles ignores his wretching, gasping and gurgling and instead bends down and picks up the bottle of pills. He has no idea what sort of medication could cure - mountain ash poisoning? - whatever it is that turns Gerard into a dilapidated tar factory but he doesn’t really care. The way he sees it, Gerard’s little ailment is a handy shortcut. All he has to do now is sit on the sidelines and wait. 

When Gerard can finally speak, in between the onslaught of black and red release, he turns his face up to glare at Stiles. Even at his weakest moment, Gerard’s eyes still manage to fill with virulence and darkness and if Stiles were younger, if he hadn’t grown into the man he is now, he might have been frightened by him. As it goes…

“I thought you wanted to kill me,” The man wheezes and from this angle, in the light of the flames from the fireplace, Stiles can see where the tiny red vessels in his eyes have popped leaving pinpricks of blood behind. His face is swollen, too - fat and discoloured from his struggle for breath. 

“I did. I  _ do _ ,” Stiles admits, honesty leaking into his voice, “But even though I’m  _ really _ good at covering my tracks, there’s always that slight chance that the cops will be able to trace your death back to me. You dying on your own is so much less hassle and honestly, even though you’re getting that black shit everywhere, your way if probably less messy.”

Stiles fiddles with the pill bottle in his hands and looks back towards his bat. Yeah, definitely less messy. 

The feeling of something grabbing onto the legs of his pants brings Stiles back from his thoughts and he glares down at Gerard, repulsed. It’s like the man is trying to climb him, pulling his pathetic bag of dying flesh up inch by inch. Stiles just kicks him back down. 

“Please,” He begs, the black gunk starting again. With each wave, there are more and more hints of red and even tiny bunches of muscle or something… Stiles doesn’t know but he’s pretty sure that stuff is supposed to stay in the body. 

Ignoring his pleas, Stiles grabs a hold of the discarded wheelchair and turns it around so he can sit down in it. It’s nice in front of the fire and Stiles can see why Gerard likes sitting here so much. With the rain outside and the crackling of the fire, it makes for a cosy and calm atmosphere… excluding the sounds of Gerard dying of course. That isn’t so calming but it  _ is _ satisfying, so Stiles guesses it isn’t all that bad. 

“You’ve hurt a lot of people,” His voice is quiet when he speaks but Gerard's bloodshot eyes connecting with his lets him know the man can hear him just fine, “You tortured me, you tortured Boyd and Erica… we were just kids.”

It still hurts to think about that night. The joy he had felt when he won the game, how sure he had been that his dad would be proud of him. Seeing Lydia standing there, clapping for  _ him _ right next to his dad… that moment had meant a lot, even if it was all just teenage wishes and childish dreams. There were other things, more important things, but in that moment everything in Stiles’ life felt good… just for a second. 

Then it had all come crashing down. Being tortured sucks, seeing your - well, they weren’t quite friends yet, but they were kids, just like him and seeing Erica and Boyd strung up like that, being hurt way worse than Stiles ever was was horrifying. It was awful and worse than that, worse than the torture and having his night ruined was the realisation that nobody cared. His dad was worried until Stiles had placated him with a lie, but his friends, the people who knew what was really going on, what had  _ really _ happened to him in that basement that night… that was hell. 

Of course, that little incident pales in comparison to the other things Gerard has done. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard’s speech is shuddering now, breaking off in places. He doesn’t have long left but he has long enough, “I’m sorry for what I did, you didn’t deserve that, but is being beaten up really reason enough to watch a man die?”

Stiles frowns and sits back in the wheelchair, letting himself rock in it just a little, “You think that’s the only reason I’m here?”

After Stiles had settled into his new life by Derek’s side his life became chaotic in a way it had never been before. There were visits to other packs, diplomatic meetings to form ally bonds, conventions and camping trips and all manner of events of which he had to be front and centre as the alpha mate of Beacon Hills, Beacon County and eventually all of northern California. It was hard, tiring work but he was glad to do it, glad to have the opportunity. His travels in strengthening inter-pack bonds lead him to a small pack in Oregon. They had been much bigger once, much more powerful than even the original Hale pack - and Gerard and his band of supremacists had destroyed them. That story and others like it were recounted wherever Stiles went and it was easy, even back then, to see just how much pain and carnage the Argents had caused. 

That they are still causing. 

Thinking back on all the lives lost at Gerard’s hand, Stiles doesn’t feel so selfish for what he’s about to do - doesn’t feel so deranged. He knows he’s obsessed, he knows he’s fucked up. Even Derek has noticed how on edge he’s been the past few months and Stiles is very, very good at keeping things from his husband. Nothing too dark, of course, if you forget the murder plot thing. Mostly Stiles is just hiding surprise parties and the planning of romantic getaways from him. 

Stiles steeples his fingers, presses his eyes closed hard and tries to think. Tries to find some control. He doesn’t need to do anything, now that Gerard is slowly dying on his own, but the urge to make him suffer, the urge to have him look all his wrongdoings in the eye and know what a monster he is, is hard to tamp down. Stiles want’s him to know in his last moments how alone he is. He wants him to suffer. 

In one swift movement, Stiles is out of the chair and onto the floor, crouching down right beside Gerard’s bloodshot face. He makes sure to dump the bottle of pills back onto the wheelchair because the old man getting hold of those would be a big downer and also kind of predictable. Though, Stiles is pretty sure Gerard is too far gone now for the meds to do anything. He’s going to die - there’s no stopping that now. 

“I’m mad about what you did to me,” Stiles admits, taking Gerard’s red and rubbery face between his fingers. He squeezes so the man’s cheeks bulge and contort under his vice-like grip, “But none of that compares to how I feel about what you did to Derek.”

Gerard tries to pull away but it’s no good. His strength is gone and even his natural reflexes are starting to give in. He hasn’t convulsed in a little while now even though the black gunk is still coming, emptying him out. 

“You sent your rapist daughter to seduce a boy -  _ a kid _ . You had her torch his entire family. There were children in that house, children that had no idea there was even a reason for a fucking infirm, nauseating cunt like you to want to hurt them. Some of them were even human - not that that matters. Murder is murder, no matter if  _ you _ think their species is lesser or not.”

Gerard spits and the black goo bubbles around his lips, “Human’s that are guilty by association deserve the same punishment.”

It takes a lot for Stiles not to press his thumbs down on Gerard’s throat right there. He has to remind himself that strangulation would show up in an autopsy. 

“What about Allison,” Stiles asks, and that gets Gerard’s attention. The man turns dark eyes on him, darker than the substance gushing from his mouth and trickling down from his eyes, nose and ears. So dark Stiles could almost compare them to the darkness the nemeton left in his heart a long, long time ago, “Don’t you feel any remorse for what you did to her?”

The old man grits his stained, greying teeth, “You killed her, not me.”

“The Oni killed her,” He corrects and tries not to dwell, “But you did so much worse. You ruined her.”

It hurts to remember the girl Allison used to be before her fucked up, homicidal family sunk their teeth into her. She had been kind, sweet, fun. Though she didn’t see it back then, she had been strong too. What she became after… Stiles won’t think about it. He won’t dishonour her memory by thinking of her as the young woman who hunted down her classmates like animals, all because her family said it was right. He won’t remember her as Gerard’s porn. 

“She could have had an amazing life. She could have been normal, could have done anything she wanted to do, be anything she wanted to be. You might think it’s my fault she died… but she’s dead because of you.”

Gerard tries to wipe his lips but his arms are shaking too violently and he can’t muster enough strength to lift them past his waist. Stiles gets closer, adjusts himself until he’s almost straddling the dying man, “I don’t even know if you ever cared about her; you didn’t care about Chris. Kate, though. She was everything you ever wanted. A daughter as sick and twisted as you. Someone who could follow in your footsteps,” Stiles watches the bubbles under Gerard’s nose pop with wet little gargles, “I wonder if she’ll be able to do that when I cut off her legs.”

A new wave of adrenaline flows though Stiles’ body, starting at his core and branching outwards. He stands quickly and claps his hands together, then starts moving the wheelchair back into place. He picks up the bottle of pills, too, and tosses them from one had to the other like a kitten with a ball of yarn. 

“You’re lucky. I was just going to kill you. Sure, I hate your vile, venomous guts, but you’re not exactly big game. You’re generic and my hate for you is equal to my hate for most Argents - excluding Chris, since he seems to have realised that the real monsters are his own family. But Kate,” Stiles catches the pill bottle in one hand and used the other to rake through his wild, messy hair, “Kate… oh, fuck, Kate. I’m going to have so much fun with her.”

Stiles chuckles at the thought, all the wicked, foul, fucked up things he has in store for that evil bitch. If there’s one good thing to come out of Kate coming back as a were-whatever, it’s that she can heal. Oh, the possibilities that leaves. Stiles has plans, a rough outline at the most. He’s even picked out where he’s going to keep her. The underground tunnels in the preserve should be good. A little magical wards to stop his furry friends dropping by and Stiles and Kate could be undisturbed for days, weeks, months…  _ years _ . He’s not going to kill her - if everything goes to plan, he’s  _ never _ going to kill her. He’ll just keep chopping bits off, sewing them back on, letting her heal and tearing her apart again. He’ll burn her and make her drink poison, choke her out until she’ll an inch from death then let her gasp for breath again. Stick pins in her eyes, blend her fingers up and make her drink them, peel her skin from her bones… 

Gerard doesn’t even sound mad when he asks: “What are you going to do to her?”

Stiles smiles and watches as Gerard's eyes begin to lose focus. It doesn’t take long after that. “Well, I’m not going to kill her.”

 

When Gerard’s body has finally stopped twitching and the smell of his involuntary bodily functions becomes too much for Stiles’ stomach, he places the pill bottle on the floor near the old man and couches down by his still and silent corpse. With a gentle sigh, he reaches around to his back pocket and pulls out a small compact mirror, opening it up and leaning closer to Gerard’s slack face. He places the mirror in front of Gerard’s mouth and waits, watching with keen and hopeful eyes. There’s nothing. No warm breath to mist up the mirror. 

He’s dead - finally. 

With a triumphant smile, Stiles lifts the mirror and stares at his reflection, fixing his hair from where he’d mused it out of place earlier. He looks good for a man who just watched someone die. 

Smiling brighter, Stiles stands, pockets the mirror and leaves the way he came. He swings his bat onto his shoulder and steps out into the cool night air. It’s stopped raining now and the dirt around the house fills Stiles’ nostrils with that pleasant outdoor feeling. The sort you get when you go camping. It’s nice. 

He makes his way back down to the car and pops open the door to the rear seats. Erica is in Boyd’s lap, pressed up against the steering wheel as they make out. It’s not really surprising and Stiles can’t exactly judge; he’d have been in the same position if he and Derek had been in their place. 

“Okay,” He sighs, rolling his amber eyes, “Time to break it up, lovebirds.”

Erica climbs gracefully out of Boyd’s lap and retakes her seat, grinning wolfishly back at Stiles, “Jealous.”

Boyd’s looking at him too, spying at him through the rearview mirror. Stiles stares back and lifts up his bat, showing off how clean and not soaked in blood it is. 

“See,” He smiles, “Just visiting a friend.”

He knows he probably stinks of death and by now all the wolves know the scent of that black gunge by heart - not to mention Gerard’s. Boyd doesn’t question it though and Stiles is thankful. 

“Where to now,” The beta asks, starting the car and heading back towards the old bridge. 

Stiles smiles and lets his muscles relax, resting his head against the window, “Home sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is loosely based on that Kim Tate scene from Emmerdale. Go watch it and tell me that mirror shit isn't the coldest thing you've ever seen in your life. R.I.P Frank.
> 
> [tumblr](http://milkysterek.tumblr.com/)


End file.
